


VDay

by cowboykylux



Series: Blue Moon 'Verse [14]
Category: Burn This - Wilson
Genre: F/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25630696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: If you ask him, Pale’s gonna say he ain’t got time for none of that hallmark bullshit. He’s way too fuckin’ busy to go runnin’ around and pickin’ up cards or flowers or some bullshit like that because he’s got a fuckin’ job to do, and a concerto to compose, okay?(...But he does it all anyway)
Relationships: Pale (Burn This)/Reader, Pale (Burn This)/You
Series: Blue Moon 'Verse [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491260
Kudos: 14





	VDay

If you ask him, Pale’s gonna say he ain’t got time for none of that hallmark bullshit. He’s way too fuckin’ busy to go runnin’ around and pickin’ up cards or flowers or some bullshit like that because he’s got a fuckin’ job to do, and a concerto to compose, okay?

Except 

When the holiday starts creepin’ up on the calendar, Pale finds himself compelled to start makin’ arrangements. 

He ain’t no fuckin’ schmuck, you know? He ain’t gonna leave you hangin’ to dry or nothing like that. You’re his woman, his best and most favorite fuckin’ girl, and he treats his girl right. So if you want something for Valentine’s Day – or even if you don’t, if you say you don’t but really mean you do, he’s gonna deliver.

“There’s some money on the counter, go treat yourself to somethin’ nice and be ready to go out at 6.” He’ll call you from the restaurant, all grouchy and grumpy and cranky like he is, and you tell him you’ll be ready, and he hangs up as he shouts as someone for fucking something up. 

He likes it when you have cash to do whatever you want, make yourself look good. He has no idea how much “all that shit” costs, so he tends to give you way more than you need, and you’ll slip the extra back into his wallet when he ain’t looking, because you’d never take advantage. 

But you go out and get your nails done, get your hair done, buy a new dress, and when 6pm rolls around, he’s knockin on your door as you’re slipping your shoes on. 

When you open the door he’s holding a big bouquet of flowers, hands them to you unceremoniously and barges into the apartment.

“Happy valentine’s day sweetheart,” he’ll say all huffin’ and puffin’ as he lights a cigarette and plants a big kiss to your cheek, “You look like a million fuckin’ bucks, you know that? What’d you go do?” He asks, asks like he’s angry but he isn’t, he’s just always wound tight. 

“I went down to the salon on 43rd? Got a facial and a manicure and a blowout.” You say, showing him your fresh nails with a big smile. 

He grabs your jaw and inspects your face, kissing the grin you got there. 

“Hey, no one’s allowed to get facials or blowjobs but me, alright?” He jokes, and you bite your lip and sink to your knees right then and there – surprising him. “Ohh honey.” He’ll groan as you work his belt open, and you smack his hand when he tries to tangle it in your freshly done hair. 

“I just got this done,” You’ll pout, and he rolls his eyes, keeps his hands to himself as you suck him off so well that he curses loud when he comes down your throat. 

He takes you out to dinner, wines and dines you in the nicest fucking restaurant this side of the river, has a whole section cleared out just for you, just so he can keep his hands on you, up your skirt, down your shirt, on your neck and thigh all night. 

You laugh at his jokes and his stories, he listens intently to yours, the two of you sharing a quiet moment, good food and even better company. 

You exchange presents at the table, you got him a gold watch that you’d been saving up for for months, one that he’d been eyeing for a long time but never made the purchase because he “was always around clocks anyway.” He kisses you real hard for that, knowing how expensive it was and how long you must’a been keepin’ tabs on it for him. 

He gives you a ring, a big diamond thing, slips it right on your finger. 

“It ain’t a fuckin’ marriage proposal or nothin’ like that so don’t you start – I just saw you lookin’ at it in the window and thought it’d look good on your hand while you jerk me off, that’s all.” He blows it off like it’s nothin’, like it hadn’t been sittin’ in his pocket for weeks. 

You grin, because you know what he means by it anyway, even if it ain’t something you can really have. 

After dinner, he rails you six ways to Sunday, surrounded by more rose petals and champagne and a lot of love (even if he doesn’t admit it).


End file.
